


Past the Mad River in the Mountains

by zelda_mxgerald



Series: Something Different [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future Fic, Gray Jedi Trilla Suduri, Semi-Public Sex, shout out to Elizabeth Grullon's magnificent hair, vague reference to my Trilla's got naturally curly hair headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_mxgerald/pseuds/zelda_mxgerald
Summary: A world falls apart and Cal and Trilla fall together.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister, Cere Junda & Trilla Suduri | Second Sister, Greez Dritus & Trilla Suduri | Second Sister, Merrin & Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Series: Something Different [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761478
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	Past the Mad River in the Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> This is set at the beginning of ANH, and I guessed their ages as early 20s (Trilla) and 18 (Cal) in the game, so in this they're 36 and 32 respectively.

_Hyperspace, 0 BBY_

In her thirty-six years of life, Trilla Suduri has never felt anything quite so awful. She has been betrayed and almost killed by her former master, repeatedly tortured, and almost murdered by the terrifying encapsulation of darkness that is Lord Vader mostly within the first two decades of her life. None of that comes close to the feeling of mass terror, despair, and _hopelessness_ that rips through her chest and makes her double over in agony. A few feet away, she can see Merrin vomit all over the holotable and the seven smuggled Alderaanian women fussing in the peripherals.

They’re an hour into hyperspace after leaving Alderaan, and later, Trilla will recognize how lucky they were, but right now, she just grits her teeth and focuses on not passing out or following Merrin’s example and spewing across Greez’s beloved upholstery. When the feeling of mass death passes, she feels another wave of terror pass through her, though this one is far away and belongs only to one person, and Trilla fumbles for her commlink to find it already blinking rapidly with no regard for their agreed upon code.

She waits for a pause in the blinking then sends three short clicks ( _alive_ ), two short and one long ( _coming home_ ), and four long ( _going dark_ ). There are two quick clicks ( _copy_ ) and a distant wave of relief that she echoes.

Trilla takes a deep breath to steady herself and through sheer force of will, or will of the Force, she makes it to the cockpit. Greez looks at her for less than a second before asking, “Geez, what happened to you?”

All she can get out is, “something’s wrong” before she has to sit down and hang her head between her knees.

“What d’you mean something’s wrong? That was one of the easiest pick ups we’ve ever done in over ten years!”

Trilla tries her best to swallow past the burn in her throat that signals tears being close to follow but just manages to make herself choke more. Luckily Merrin has recovered enough to stagger her way into the cockpit as well. “With the Force. Something- something bad, _dark_ happened.”

If Trilla looks half as bad as Merrin does, she understands why Greez had been concerned. The Dathomirian is sweaty, shaking, and paler than normal. She spares a moment to think about how Cal must be feeling right now; both she and Merrin sit somewhere in the middle of light and dark, but if they’re reacting this strongly to _whatever_ just happened then she can only imagine the state Cal must be in. She tries to push that thought aside for later; he’d been well enough to send feelings at her through the Force and operate a commlink, so she can safely cling to the fact that he’s probably alive.

Greez looks between the two of them and orders them to bed for the remainder of the journey. “Is there anything you can do to change this?” The two women shake their heads. “Then I’ll have someone wake you for landing.”

While they have the Alderaanians on the _Mantis_ , she and Merrin are bunking together like old times. Normally, both the Nightsister and former Second Sister value their separate spaces, but for now, she’s grateful for the verdant green Force signature shining brightly in her mind’s eye, just as Merrin is for her own grey light that shimmers in the oppressive darkness that surrounds them.

-&-

The satellite base they run most of their cargo through (be that actual cargo or refugees) before it’s dispersed or relocated is almost always quiet. The planet is a nameless fuel stop between the mid and outer rims that has largely escaped Empire notice for the last nineteen years. Today, the base is in absolute chaos.

Trilla tries to glimpse around the hangar bay for Cal or Cere but her attention is effectively derailed when a Rebellion officer is telling her, Merrin, Greez, and the Alderaanians they smuggled off the planet that there is, in fact, no longer a planet.

Everyone’s confusion is palpable. Trilla thinks that maybe the Empire has begun a military coup of Alderaan, but when one of the women voices a similar thought, the officer shakes his head and tells them, “no, the planet is gone. I’m sorry.”

The women look as if everything they’d ever loved had been violently ripped away in a single heartbeat. Fitting.

The officer directs Greez, Merrin, and Trilla to report for debriefing as soon as possible, and neither she nor Merrin puts up their regular token protests that they _technically_ aren’t even part of the Rebellion, that they’re _technically_ just private contractors, so why should they have to debrief.

The debrief is blessedly short. Cere distractedly asks them routine questions, BD-1 chirps mournfully at everyone, and Cal is still nowhere to be seen. At the end, Cere asks her if she’d heard anything about a planet killer either fifteen years ago or through her imperial contacts.

“Not really. Jokes at Orson Krennic’s expense for the most part. But nothing-” She cuts herself off; if she keeps talking she might just scream. There’s so much anger and hate pulsing through her right now and no one to take it out on. She’d kill for about fifteen stormtroopers to Force choke right now.

Cere nods and doesn’t prompt her to finish, only takes note of it on her holopad then dismisses them. For a second, none of them move; out of the corner of her eye, she sees Merrin and Greez exchange a look before they take their leave. At the whoosh of the closing door, Cere looks up and her eyes soften. Trilla has to look away; she’s never been great at accepting sympathy even before the Empire and now, feeling like an exposed nerve, it’s really not helping the on-the-verge-of-screaming situation.

Thankfully, when she speaks, Cere’s voice is void of anything that might tip her over that precipice. “Just give it a little time. It was- even I felt it.”

Trilla nods jerkily and follows the path her crewmates had taken back to the _Mantis_. The Alderaanian women are being quartered courtesy of the Rebellion tonight, so Trilla gets her cabin back, although all she can manage is blankly staring at the bottom of the empty bunk above her. Despite the hours of sleep she’d gotten earlier, she’s exhausted, but despite her exhaustion, she can’t seem to settle her anger enough to sleep.

Eventually, she gives up and makes her way to the kitchenette to make herself some mediocre caf. The planet they’re on is in its night cycle right now, but it’s close enough to dawn that she can justify being awake. Trilla honestly might not even need the caf for all the incandescent rage that is coursing through her veins right now. She has to press her forehead to a cabinet, close her eyes, and clutch the counter’s edge until her knuckles go white and her fingers sore before she can muster enough control to accept the anger before it consumes her.

Trilla releases a shaky breath along with the urge to _hurt_ and _destroy_ and _kill_ and the red mist that’s been clouding her vision since the Empire destroyed an _entire fucking planet_ dissipates somewhat. It’s only then that she realizes she’s not alone. She thinks if it had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have gone this long without noticing their presence and she certainly wouldn’t have let them get this close to her. But it isn’t anyone else, so she turns slowly to face him.

Cal looks how she expects him to; he looks like the glimpse she caught of herself in the fresher mirror while getting ready for bed. There are deep bags under his eyes, his hair is disheveled, and his shoulders are curled inwards, but he still meets her gaze.

They meet in the middle. His arms band around her waist and his fists clench in the fabric of her (his) soft sleep shirt. His nose is pressed into the crook of her neck and Trilla has one hand buried in his hair to hold him there and the other gripped in the fabric of his poncho where it rests on his shoulder.

They stand there for a while; she isn’t sure how long but the caf finishes brewing, although they pay it no mind. Eventually, she becomes aware of murmured words against her neck.

“Thought I’d lost you.”

Trilla slides her hands to his cheeks to pull him back enough to look at him. “Can’t get rid of me that easily, Jedi.” She strokes her thumbs across his cheekbones and kisses him firmly. “Those vows we made each other said life and death, remember?”

“ _Trill_ ” her name tumbles from his mouth roughly and then he’s kissing her in much the same way. His grip around her waist tightens again and he walks her backwards until her hips hit the counter. Trilla, for her part, gives as good as she gets; her hand finds his hair again and she gives a sharp tug that has Cal pressing her harder into the edge of the counter. There will definitely be a bruise later, and she couldn’t care less.

The kiss is frantic and on the messy side of desperate. It’s reminiscent of their first kiss eleven years ago, though Cal had been the one pinned that time and he certainly hadn’t wedged his thigh between hers like he’s doing now.

They’re both breathing heavily when Trilla pulls away to mouth at his throat. Without any prompting, Cal tilts his head to accommodate the awkward angle her height forces her into to do this, and any other time she might tease him about how easy he is for her but what’s happening isn’t the teasing kind of encounter. It’s the kind of encounter where the only reason he loosens the tight press of her hips into the counter is so he can roughly drag her down against his thigh. Trilla gasps into his neck and bites with no regard for how even his bulkiest poncho won’t be able to hide the forming mark and that earns her a gasp from him as well.

It’s going to end quickly for her—for Cal too if the hardness at her thigh and the barely restrained twitch of his hips is anything to go by. She’d be more embarrassed if they hadn’t been on opposing schedules for the last four months. She’s had orgasms in that time—by herself and with Cal over comms—but with the exception of one agonizingly chaste night six weeks ago in which they were in barracks with fifty other people thanks to the _Mantis_ spewing terribly timed noxious gas, they haven’t felt each other in forever. On top of all this, they’d both felt millions of people die today and it’s as much about reconnecting as it is about feeling alive.

Here, now, he is warm and solid and bright and _alive_ , and she can feel everything—her arousal, relief, sadness, anger, everything—being absorbed, amplified and reflected back at her. Trilla’s so keyed up that when Cal slips a hand under her shirt to brush the bare skin of her lower back as she grinds against his thigh, she’s gone.

Trilla shakes apart with more force than a fully clothed orgasm in the _Mantis_ ’s kitchenette warrants, but all the same, Cal gently strokes his palm up and down her spine until she settles. When she’s grounded enough to move back, the first thing she notices is how well and truly fucked the left side of his neck is from her mouth. She reaches out and runs her thumb over the forming bruises.

“What’s the damage?”

Trilla grimaces lightly in response and Cal sighs as she defends, “You’re hardly the only person who’s going for a quick fuck in the dead of night tonight.”

He looks torn over whether he wants to acknowledge why tonight would be the proper night for that or admonish her; she’s pleased he goes for the latter. “People look up to me here, you know. I’m very respectable.”

One orgasm deep, Trilla’s finding it easier to fall into their normal teasing banter. The earlier rage and acid running through her veins has been replaced with warm honey and she wants to chase out the chill and sadness running through his with the same.

“Oh, they look up to you do they, Kestis?” Trilla purrs his name in the same way she’s always done for the last fourteen years and straightens up to her full height—a whole inch taller than him—to make her point. She gets a dry “ _ha ha_ ” for her efforts. “Well if your fawning multitudes have anything to say about it, you can blame your highly disrespectful wife.”

She gets the response she was hoping for—the response she always gets when she reminds him they're married—with the twitch at her thigh and the way Cal’s eyes zero in on her mouth.

“We should really move to the room.”

That’s probably true; Merrin and Greez aren’t exactly easy sleepers, but her earlier orgasm had done a pretty good job at chasing off the lingering angry haze in her mind and has left her exhausted. If she even looks at a bed right now, she’s going to fall asleep, so instead she just leans forward and hums against his mouth while she gets her hands under his poncho and works on getting his fly open. She slips her hand into the front of his pants and mumbles, “missed you.”

“Are you talking to me or-” Cal’s effectively cut off by the squeeze of her hand and a wicked grin.

“Mmm, both.”

Luckily, the lingering echoes of her orgasm and teasing had pushed him far enough that there’s just enough precum to slick her way through a few tugs before Cal groans low in his throat and spills over her hand. He presses his forehead to hers as she wipes her hand against the leg of his pants.

“Charming.”

“I’ve got some of your clothes in the room.”

“Clearly.” Cal plucks at the shirt she’s wearing that’s obviously meant to be worn by someone with broader shoulders than hers, “You make a habit of stealing my clothes?”

Trilla pushes them off the counter and turns so that Cal plasters himself across her back. “Only when I’m thinking about you.”

She can’t see him, but she knows that his nose scrunches with a smile as he pushes his face into the curls at the nape of her neck. “Oh, so only all the time then?”

“Something like that.” Trilla lowers her voice as they shuffle towards their quarters. “Keep it to yourself though; I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

His response is soft and light, “Secret’s safe with me, Trill.”

A short time later, when Cal has changed and Trilla’s pressed against his back in their narrow bunk and they’re both so close to dropping off, she weaves her fingers with his over his heart and drops a kiss on his bare shoulder.

“You’re not allowed to die on me, Cal.” She whispers.

He responds, sleep slurred and gravelly, “Won’t if you don’t.”

She squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back. “Deal.” And they sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> On the plus side of quarantine, I finally got around to playing JFO after buying it in November, and I even 100%-ed it (the first time I've done that for any game!). On the negative side, I can still barely force myself to read a book.
> 
> That said, in lieu of plugging my tumblr or something, I'm here to plug a book, movie, tv show, podcast, and album in case you're looking for something new to get you through quarantine.
> 
> Book: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue, by Mackenzi Lee  
> Movie: Tigers Are Not Afraid, directed by Issa Lopez  
> TV Show: Roswell, New Mexico, created by Carina Adly MacKenzie  
> Podcast: Thirst Aid Kit, hosted by Bim Adewunmi and Nichole Perkins  
> Album: Vagabon's self-titled album (the title for this work came from the song Full Moon in Gemini)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Drop a kudo and/or comment if you feel so moved, and please stay safe and be conscious of others' health.


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